Head vs You
by EvilFuzzy9
Summary: Random escapades from the lives of everyone's favorite sim troopers, told in the form of bite-size drabbles. [crack] [slapstick] [gen]
1. You Just Got Sarge'd

**Head vs. You**

A _Red vs Blue_ oneshot

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

"PULL!"

A gunshot rang through the air of the canyon. This was followed shortly by the sound of crackling ceramic as a clay pigeon was blasted into dust.

"Excellent shot, sir!" said a man in maroon MJOLNIR armor, who was holding a standard issue MA5D assault rifle at rest.

"Yep, I'd say my aim's improved by about fifty percent ever since I instituted those changes to our training equipment," said a man in regimental red, pumping his M90 shotgun to eject the spent shell casings. His voice was gruff, and he spoke with a vaguely Southern accent.

"All you did was paint the pigeons orange," said a man in armor that just so happened to be the same color as the ceramic discs that had been loaded into the launcher. He had an MA5D slung over his back, and was seated next to the clay pigeon firing device.

"Yep," said the man in red. "Improved my aim by _fifty percent_." He made a point of audibly reloading his weapon with the barrel trained at the back of the orange one's head. His finger was on the trigger the entire time.

"PULL!" he shouted again, once he'd finished reloading.

The man in orange sighed. He pressed the button to make the device fire, and a clay disc the same color as his armor shot into the air.

The man in red pulled the trigger on his shotgun.

Grif ended that day with a helmet full of buckshot.

* * *

A/N: RvB drabbles? Why not. XD

**Updated: **12-8-13

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	2. Near Misses

**Head vs. You**

A _Red vs. Blue_ drabble collection

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

"Look at me! Look at me!" exclaimed a man in blue armor. His helmet was noticeably from the outdated Mark 5 model, while the rest of his armor was a more up-to-date Mark 6. He was jumping up and down, wildly waving a Type-25 Carbine 'Spiker' in the air.

"Caboose...?" said a man in light blue armor with gold accents, peering over the ridge to see what the big fuss was about. He saw what the first man was doing, and sighed, quietly swearing under his breath. "Dammit..." he muttered. "Caboose! CABOOSE! Put that thing down! That is NOT a toy...!"

He made to cross the ridge and go down the hill to where Caboose was standing, but a second before he could step over the crest a spike of superheated, magnetically propelled metal ripped through the air right past his head.

It missed him by less than an inch.

"DAMMIT, CABOOSE!" the man swore much more loudly this time.

Caboose immediately dropped the spiker. "I didn't do it," he said. Naturally, the alien carbine went off again as soon as it hit the ground. This time the shot went right between Wash's legs, narrowly missing his groin.

Washington hissed a particularly violent oath under his breath, shaking his head. And every other part of his body, too, for that matter.

"Great..." he muttered to himself, too low for Caboose to hear. "I'm just glad these suits are self-cleaning."

"I didn't do that either," said Caboose. "That was nobody's fault."

* * *

A/N: Oh, _Caboose_. :3

**Updated: **12-8-13

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	3. Far Misses

**Head vs. You**

A _Red vs. Blue_ drabble collection

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

Former Freelancer agent, codename: "Carolina" stared in disbelief as her target made his getaway through the massive, gaping hole in what had only minutes before been an insurmountable dead-end. Normally this would not be remotely enough to daunt her from continued pursuit, but in this situation she just had to take a moment to really appreciate the level of this fuck up.

"You missed," she said, her words colored heavily with disbelief. "He wasn't even twenty feet away. How the hell could you miss that shot?"

AI unit Epsilon, better known as Church to his friends, was quiet for a long, awkward moment. It was several seconds before he could formulate a response.

"Hey, _you_ were the one holding the gun," he said, not at all defensive.

"I was focused on pursuing the target," Carolina retorted. "_You_ were supposed to be calculating ballistics and trajectory. I thought you said you were good with sniper rifles?"

Church was silent for another several seconds.

"Um, yeah," he finally said. "Just, er, not this particular model. I'm more used to the standard issue rifles, you know? They're low-tech but reliable. Fewer bells and whistles, not as many moving parts. Less ways to fail. This rifle is, ah, too complicated."

"Too complicated?" said Carolina skeptically. "For a _computer?_"

Church said nothing.

The ex-Freelancer shook her head and sighed.

"Not only did you miss the target completely," she muttered, "but you hit a crate of high explosives, setting them off and blowing a hole in the wall for our mark to escape through. That's a whole new level of failure."

Church snorted. "Really?" he said sarcastically. "Because it's pretty run of the mill, where I'm from."

A beat.

Both of them were silent as they processed these words.

"...you know," Church said, breaking the silence, "I meant that as sarcasm, but hearing it out loud..."

"It makes an awful lot of sense," said Carolina wryly.

"Yeah," said Church, glum. He sighed. "_God_, I miss that canyon."

Carolina quirked an eyebrow inside her helmet. "Honestly? I miss it too."

"You've never even been to Blood Gulch."

Carolina chuckled grimly.

"You'd be surprised," she said cryptically. Then she strapped the 99-S5 Anti-Matériel to her back, exchanging it for an M45D tactical shotgun. "But enough talk, Epsilon," she said. "Activate speed enhancement module." She began running after the target, loading her shotgun as she leaped through the hole in the wall. She could see him in the distance, and she hit the ground running, weapon locked and loaded. "Calculate for intercept in five, four, three..."

She vanished in a blur. Dust flew up in great, billowing clouds through the alley, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it streak of light blue heralding their eruption.

Two seconds later, the thunderous _CRACK_ of a shotgun being fired echoed through the violent slums of the crime ridden city of New Detroit on some distant, hyper-industrialized planet.

* * *

A/N: This one is marginally more serious than the others. _Marginally._

**Updated: **12-8-13

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	4. Daylight Savings

**Head vs. You**

A _Red vs. Blue_ drabble collection

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

_Ardiel. Mencius._ These words have nothing to do with anything. They just sound kinda cool.

That kind of reasoning is about par for the course in Blood Gulch.

"Listen up, men!" hollered Staff Sergeant Sarge of Red Team. "I have some excellent news for you, today!"

Dexter Grif, whose rank of 'minor junior private negative first class' was so low that technically it didn't even exist, groaned and pulled the pillow down harder over his head.

"Can't it wait until morning?" he groaned, lying face down in his bunk.

"What are you talking about, Grif?" said Dick Simmons, the second highest ranking soldier on Red Team, at private first class. "It _is_ morning."

"But it's still _dark_ out..." muttered the orange-clad soldier.

It took him a second to realize the significance of what he had just said.

His eyes widened, and he shot up in his bunk, already in full uniform.

"Wait a minute—!" he exclaimed.

Simmons, though, made a noise of disgust. "You _sleep_ in your armor?" he said, eyeing Grif's state of complete dress with visible nausea. "...well, that would certainly explain the _smell_..." he muttered under his breath.

Sarge, also, shook his head. "Shameful," he said. "An absolute disgrace to your rank. Sleeping in full uniform, without a single loaded firearm in sight." He grunted disapprovingly. "What would you do if the Blues suddenly attacked us in the middle of the night?" he said. "Beat them to death with your _pillow?_"

"Wait," interjected Simmons, "_You_ sleep in your armor _too_, Sarge?"

"Of course!" declared the Red leader. "How else can I expect to be ready for a surprise attack from the enemy? I _always_ wear my armor, and I always carry at least _one_ fully loaded instrument of death on my person at any given time."

He pulled his favorite shotgun off of his back, aiming it straight at Grif, who was apparently busy trying to get their attention regarding some unimportant matter or other. Before his finger could "accidentally" slip, however, he was interrupted again by Simmons.

"Even in the_ shower?_" said the maroon-armored private, sounding almost _conflicted_ about whether or not to criticize his commanding officer on this.

"_Especially_ in the shower!" said Sarge, more or less either oblivious or simply uncaring to the inner crisis being faced by Red Team's number one kiss ass. "You never know when those crafty Blues might try to catch you with your pants down. Which, incidentally, is why I _never_ take my pants off."

Simmons was silent, possibly stunned temporarily mute.

"Why?" said Sarge after a moment of vaguely awkward silence. "Don't _you?_"

"...well, I do _now_," said Simmons, his innate desire to suck up eventually winning out over his disgust.

"Good!" said Sarge, accidentally-for-real pulling the trigger on his shotgun, which wound up missing Grif completely.

"_What the hell?!_" the orange-armored sim trooper swore, scrambling down onto the floor. "Christ! Can't you at least wait until I'm out of bed before trying to kill me?"

Sarge, his attention drawn back to Grif, cursed.

"Dagnabbit!" he swore. "You can't even get being _shot in the face_ right!"

"Dammit, aren't any of you guys freaked out by the fact that it's _dark_ out?" exclaimed Grif, still lying on the floor, gesticulating wildly. "In all the years we've been here, the sun has _never set!_ Does _nobody else_ notice this?!"

"What are talking about?" said Sarge. "Of _course_ the sun sets!"

"Yeah," said Simmons, "You just always go to sleep before it sets, and don't wake up until after it's risen."

"And even when we do try and wake you up," continued Sarge, "you just fall right back asleep and forget everything by morning. A complete disgrace!"

Grif didn't respond. For several long seconds, he was completely silent.

Then the snoring began.

Growling, Sarge cocked his M90 CAWS.

"Simmons," he grunted, squeezing the trigger, "Go get me some more ammo. I have a feeling I'm about to start running _awfully_ low."

* * *

A/N: There's just something that I find so amusing about the core Red Team dynamic. Also, this seems like a reasonably probable explanation for the whole "sun never setting" thing. :P

**Updated: **12-9-13

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


	5. Red Dawn

**Head vs. You**

A _Red vs. Blue_ drabble collection

By

EvilFuzzy9

* * *

Wash stared dead ahead at the new arrivals. He looked to be frozen.

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me..." he muttered.

"Hello, yes," said a presumably rather burly man in a garish yellow combat dress modeled after an archaic armor design for UNSC demo-men back during the war. "This is being the, how you say... _Red Team_, yes?"

He also spoke with a ridiculously stereotypical Russian accent.

"Red Team?" said Caboose. "Since when were we the Red Team? Tucker?" He spun to face his teal-armored teammate. "Did you know about this?" he asked. "Why didn't anyone tell me? Now we're on the Red Team, but I'm still wearing blue. And that's just silly."

Tucker sighed.

"_I swear to God, Caboose_..." he muttered longsufferingly under his breath. Louder, however, he said, "No, we're not the Red Team. We are still the Blue Team. We will _always _be the Blue Team. That's why we wear blue armor."

"Are you sure?" said Caboose. "Because your armor looks pretty _green_ to me."

Tucker sighed. "Yes Caboose, I'm _sure_. We were the Blue Team yesterday, we're the Blue Team today, and – as much as I'm starting to wish otherwise – we'll be the Blue Team _tomorrow_."

"Are you being completely sure, comrade?" inquired the yellow armored Russian.

"Yeah, we're sure," said Wash. "Tucker's right. We _are _the Blue Team."

"Aha!" exclaimed Caboose, looking at Tucker. "I told you we were blue."

The self-proclaimed ladies' man groaned, placing his helmeted head in his armor-plated hands.

"...Yeah..." said Wash, turning back to the visitor. "...If you're looking for the Reds, they're at the other end of the canyon," he said.

"_Ha_," came a faint, but unmistakably smug laugh from the Scorpion main battle tank parked alongside the Pelican this man had come in on (a ship which looked to have been _heavily_ customized in favor of carrying and delivering maximum payloads of explosive ordnance). "_I told you they couldn't be the Red Team_." The voice sounded faintly tinny, as though it were being projected from speakers.

"Bah!" muttered the man back next to the Blue Team. "I suppose we had best be telling comrades to halt attack on other base, then."

"Wha...?" said Wash. "What attack?"

"The attack to be wiping out Blue Team, as per agreements of contract, yes?" said the man. "We in Red Dawn are taking assignments _very_ seriously. Is very good reason to be making with the explosions, you see.

Wash was quiet for a moment.

"I... see..." he said slowly.

* * *

"OH DEAR GOD, WHY?!" screamed Grif, fleeing in a panic from a man in blue armor, whose helmet was crudely painted in the likeness of a shark's visage.

"Heheheh... My apologies, dear sir," said the man in blue, rather polite speech contrasting starkly with his fierce appearance and brutal actions. "But we were hired by a man who insisted that Blue Team _must_ be destroyed."

He reloaded his brute shot, taking aim at the orange-armored slacker.

"GODDAMMIT, SARGE!" Grif swore, ducking frantically behind a conveniently located boulder.

"That could have been anyone!" the staff sergeant retorted, trading shotgun fire with a raving lunatic in blood-stained silver armor.

"Ahahaha! God demands the blood of the wicked!" the silver-clad maniac bellowed, laughing maniacally as he grabbed a second shotgun from his back and began rapidly firing both weapons at Sarge. "Repent of your sins in the lake of fire, heathen!"

"_Ruh-roh_," grunted the leader of Red Team. He immediately ducked behind another conveniently located boulder.

"Dual-wielded shotguns!" Sarge exclaimed. "Dammit, why didn't I think of that first?! Private Grif, I blame you for this!"

"I FUCKING HATE YOU!" Grif shouted over the sound of heavy explosions cracking away at his swiftly dwindling cover as the man in blue enthusiastically poured on the fire.

"The feeling's mutual!" Sarge retorted, ducking back up from cover just long enough to unload a barrel-full of hot lead point blank into the visor of his attacker.

"THE LORD IS MY SHIELD, PAGAN FOOLS!" the silver armored man howled, completely unfazed by what should have been a one-shot kill on anything under a ton.

"_¡Cago en su puta madre!_" Lopez shouted, or as much as he could, firing some manner of insane-looking rocket launcher at a hulking, MJOLNIR-clad behemoth of a man who looked like he had to be nearly ten feet tall. The fact that this mountain of titanium plated indifference happened to be casually holding and firing a warthog's chaingun in one hand only increased the badass factor of this.

The overshields flaring to life at the moment of impact, preventing the giant from getting so much as a scratch on him, may have detracted from the robot's feat, however.

"Hmph, a robot? That won't even count towards the reward..." he muttered in a voice that sounded like he ate nails for breakfast.

Another explosive impacted with his chest. Again, overshields prevented any damage to his armor, or person. But he growled nonetheless, and pulled a rocket launcher from his back.

"Pfeh," he said. "Prepare to meet your maker, android."

"_Ya me he reunido con mi creador,_" replied Lopez. "_Él es un idiota._"

The giant simply fired a rocket at Lopez.

"Too bad," he muttered. "But I don't really care."

Simmons and Donut, meanwhile, were both running from six, identical looking orange-armored soldiers, armor studded with what looked like black transceivers. The Chupathingy, unmanned, was also driving in pursuit after them, while a woman in white used some kind of jetpack to hover in air, aiming a sniper rifle at the pair's backs.

"HOW DO THESE THINGS KEEP HAPPENING TO US!" Simmons wailed, blindly firing a rocket launcher at their pursuers.

"I don't know!" replied Donut. "But I never thought I'd be so upset to have six strapping men ganging up on me!"

"AUGH!" Simmons cried, thoroughly disturbed by this mental image. "STOP DOING THAT!"

The woman fired her gun, hitting Donut in the ankle.

"Ah! Killed by a woman!" the pink-armored man wailed. "The cruel irony!"

"How is that ironi—?" Simmons started to ask, before pausing and shaking his head. "No, wait. On second thought, I think I'd rather leave that a mystery."

The blaring of ranchero style polka from the Chupathingy's radio then reminded the maroon one of his pursuers, and he promptly split, leaving the only-superficially-wounded Donut behind.

Doc looked down at the proceedings from atop a convenient ledge.

"I'd hate to contribute to all of the violence down there, but shouldn't you really be helping your team?" he said to the black-armored man next to him.

The man in black looked down at Grif running in circles with his head on fire, Lopez's decorpsitated head trying _somehow_ to bite off his "killer's" toes, Sarge joining the silver-clad religious zealot in shooting at Grif, Simmons being run over by the Chupathingy, and Donut woefully begging the woman in white to just let him die and keep his dignity.

After a very, _very_ long moment of silence, the man in black turned back to Doc.

"No, I think they have everything under control, down there."

Doc looked down into the canyon.

"Boy, it's gonna take me ages to patch those guys up when this is over," he said, sounding distinctly optimistic even in this.

"...I don't think you'll need to worry about that," was the man in black's response.

* * *

"...and then," said the man in yellow, back at Blue Base, "Once we have done traditional burning of the bodies and urinating on their graves, we will return into space and nuke entire site from orbit." He beamed. "Is favorite part of mission!" he said cheerfully.

"...I see..." said Wash slowly. "On second thought, you know what? I think we actually _are_ the Red Team."

"HAH!" laughed the blatant Russian stereotype. "See, Scorpion?" he called over to the M808B, "What did Tsar Bomba tell you? Was all very big, clever ruse!"

"_...I hate you so much_."

"I KNEW IT!" exclaimed Caboose. "I knew we were the Red Team. Why don't you ever believe me, Tucker?"

Tucker broke down and wept tears of rage.

* * *

A/N: These characters are not OCs, entirely, so much as characters translated into this one from a completely different series.

I wonder who can guess what one? It is pretty popular...

...though the characters WERE changed an awful lot.

Also, all of Lopez's lines (save the first) were done in Google translate, just to preserve the Rooster Teeth tradition. In order, they (are meant to) translate as:

_"I shit on your whore mother."_ (as I understand it, this a real curse that people actually use in Spanish)

_"I have already met my maker." _and _"__He is an asshole."_

**Updated: **12-23-13

**TTFN and R&R!**

– — ❤


End file.
